ABSTRACT
Shakespeare's task was rendered easier because of the two traditions about Richard which we have seen in the chronicles, one that he was a base fool who gave up his throne weakly and deservedly; the other that he was a martyr betrayed by his nobles. J. D. Wilson has written, 'Shakespeare's genius succeeded in fusing these originally contradictory conceptions, and in composing therefrom the figure of a king who seems to us one of the most living of his characters' (Camb lix). Perhaps 'fusing' is too strong a word. The first half of the play presents mainly the first Richard (as the Lancastrians saw him); the second half the martyr-king who can liken himself to Christ without obvious blasphemy. It is true that the worst features
of Richard's reign and character are passed over lightly; his part in the death of Gloucester is not pushed home; his reasons for banishing Hereford and Norfolk are not closely examined; his relations with the favourites are not presented vividly (contrast Edward II). In the first two Acts he is presented externally, as maladroit, arbitrary and foolish enough to cause most of his nobles to take Bolingbroke's side. Then comes a change in treatment. Faced with the enigma of Richard's behaviour after his return to Wales, Shakespeare chose to interpret his surrender, abdication and death in terms of pathos and melancholy lyricism, building on suggestions given by Holinshed and Daniel, and thus bringing many of his speeches into the Complaint tradition of which the Mirror for Magistrates was a more didactic example. This not only provides a brilliant contrast with the successful man-of-affairs who ousts him, but also develops a tentative sketch of a not wholly despicable royal failure into a brilliant and understanding portrait of a poetic introvert as the Monarch descends to be Man, and so to be Nothing. So the political tragedy becomes a tragedy of 'passion' as Richard's suffering issues in vehement outbursts of feeling, and paradoxically as the King gives up his power and his rights he becomes more and more interesting. The turning-point for him is III.2 which, beginning with some hope and an all-too-empty trust in Heaven's help for an anointed king, ends in all-too-easy despair and the dismissal of his army's remnant. The surprise we feel at this collapse becomes a detached pity during the meeting at Flint Castle (1II.3) and this grows with each of his subsequent appearances.
